Eidolon in the Rain
by Milarca
Summary: Sylar has ideas about his and Mohinder's relationship, and Mohinder, for one, has had enough.


**Summary: **Sylar has ideas about his and Mohinder's relationship, and Mohinder, for one, has had enough.

**Pairing: **Sylar/Mohinder

**A/N: **Well I haven't done this in a while u_u College is tough, guys, but I do like it :'3 Anyway, this is for a friend on Tumblr who requested it way back in September. And I do _sincerely _apologize for the wait. I started it and then put it on hold and when I came back I had different feelings about it so I changed it's direction. Thanks to Kyrial Halcoryn and ToxicRainfall for being awesome and thorough betas, and I hope you all like the finished product~

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><p><strong>Eidolon in the Rain<strong>

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><p>Like New York, Sylar was drenched. It had started to rain at three in the afternoon, and hadn't stopped since. If you had an umbrella, or an overhang to stand under, you were safe from the worst. But, even then, there are few things more pervasive than water on a rainy day.<p>

Sylar hadn't bothered with an umbrella, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to see if his telekinesis worked on rain. He wouldn't need to wait long anyway. Mohinder would be along.

Right time, right place.

He glanced up the dark alley through the downpour. No sign of him yet.

It hadn't been hard to request the Indian taxi driver; every one of them had a personal ID used within the company they stuck to their dashboards. The man on the other end had groaned at the extra work, but complied.

Thankfully, if you were requested you didn't have much choice but to come, or the company would find out. That was good for Sylar, but he had done this several times before, albeit however many months ago, so he wasn't a hundred percent positive Mohinder wouldn't simply lie that he had picked up the nameless passenger…

Ah, _there_.

YUT-2375… Sylar squinted, making sure it was the right car and there hadn't been a mix-up. It sure had taken him long enough. Sylar grinned as the taxi slowed. He could see Mohinder peering out at the sidewalk, seeing the shadow in the alley and wondering…

Well. He couldn't keep him waiting.

Sylar stepped into the street and, before Mohinder could react, telekinetically froze the Indian's body to stop him from doing anything more than blink. Sylar opened the cab door and stepped into the passenger seat.

He spoke quickly and quietly, "Mohinder, don't make this hard on yourself. Drive three blocks north, make a right, and pull into the alley there."

Mohinder looked at him side-long, his eyes wild and wide – not so much afraid as furious - his body completely paralyzed

Sylar released him and Mohinder gasped, turning to glare.

"You need to see a psychologist," he spat.

"No… I need to see 103 Johnson Street. And you're not being a good driver, are you now, Mohinder? Do you want me to complain to the taxi company?" He looked over, his smile feral. Mohinder sneered in reply.

"Drive."

His irritation growing, Sylar watched as Mohinder ignored him, stared straight ahead.

"I could very well have a gun pointed at your head; you do know that, Mohinder. I'm not going to kill you, but I don't have to make this easy."

There was a heavy pause, their breathing filling the silence of the cab.

"Do you care _at all _that Molly and Matt will worry?"

Sylar twitched.

"Your adoptive daughter and… Matt… won't be worrying about you tonight."

Mohinder spun to face him, incredulity and rage twisting his face to a snarl.

"You—"

"They're fine, Mohinder, just sleeping," he smiled lightly, admiring how delicious the Indian looked when he was angry. "Nothing too heavy. Just enough to knock out Little Miss Maps and her annoying ability – and your boyfriend." He rolled his eyes in distaste.

"He's not my boyfriend! And what exactly—"

"To be honest, Mohinder, I don't really care _what _he is to you. I just know that right now he's sleeping like a baby and so is Molly. So don't worry. Now if you don't mind…" he gestured dismissively, glancing behind them in distaste at the dripping streets.

Mohinder seethed, but, after a moment, he relented, backing up and out into congested city.

**- X -**

Mohinder stared at the sharp twists of colour on Isaac's cement floor. The bright yellows and reds of the painting depicting New York's demise made his head spin.

Sylar knelt, scrutinizing him critically.

"You knew you couldn't escape, Mohinder. Why do you continue to try? I won't hurt you if you just stop _resisting_."

"It was worth it." Mohinder smiled grimly, dark amusement shining in his tired eyes.

Of course it was.

"Hold still." Sylar reached out to push a lock of hair out of Mohinder's eyes. Mohinder flinched and turned away. "Mohinder—"

"This is the fourth time this _month_, Sylar!" Mohinder exploded, scrambling to his feet to avoid Sylar's touch. Sylar dropped his hand and stood up, flicking his fingers to stop Mohinder from moving away from him further.

"And tell me you didn't enjoy it _just as much_ as I did!" He shot back. "_Tell me that_, Mohinder, and if that's the case, I will _gladly_ leave you alone."

"_Really_?" Mohinder spat. "You want me to tell you I haven't found Molly _crying_ in her bedroom when I finally get back to my apartment at whatever horrendous hour of the morning you _finally_ decide to let me leave at?"

He stared.

"How do I explain to her where I've been and _why_ I don't tell her beforehand where I'm going?" Mohinder looked close to the edge as he barreled on, "You want me to say that Matt doesn't want us to move to Siberia to get away from you? Or that I have to _face him _every time I come home, both of us knowing what you—" Mohinder stopped when his voice became hoarse. He swallowed and turned away, trying to shade the hint of moisture in his eyes with cold anger.

A cool drip of something that was past anger and creeping into unwilling understanding welled in Sylar's stomach.

"I can't—" Mohinder whispered in his gentle accent that almost never failed to make Sylar's mouth quirk up. It still did, and Sylar felt wrong for it, miserable for it.

He had often rationalized away that Mohinder might be truly unhappy with their weekly escapades by convincing himself that Mohinder just didn't _get it_. That behind the rage that often accompanied the Indian there was a sense of deep need in him that he didn't quite appreciate, didn't quite comprehend.

But Mohinder couldn't say he didn't enjoy at least _some_ of what they did. He was always the one moaning into the sheets. And then in the morning, or at least, when they were finished, he would lie there and allow Sylar to preen and pet him. Of course then Mohinder would get up in a huff and accuse him of kidnapping and _rape,_ of all things. Sylar liked to call what he did intervention—uncomfortable at first—but necessary in the long run.

But why was he suddenly bringing all of this up so early? It seemed to Sylar that he had run a red at a light whose yellow had always seemed to carry him through. Mohinder usually waited until _after_ to start going on about how his rights were being violated.

Mohinder's almost-silent breathing touched his ears. He turned his head slightly so he could see Mohinder in his periphery.

"What happened, Mohinder?" he asked, more to himself than anything.

"Oh, you care all of a sudden?" Mohinder laughed bitterly, his black-polished shoes squeaking on the painted concrete.

"Would it surprise you to hear that I've cared from the beginning?" Sylar asked darkly. Mohinder glared at him.

"You've never cared."

"Oh, _really_?" His voice was deadly. He grinned. "Did you know that Molly was almost hit by a mixer two weeks ago? _Almost_, Mohinder. She came as close as you are to me." Sylar let his words hang in the air, allowing Mohinder to process it.

Mohinder's eyes slowly narrowed, and, instead of confused gratitude, there was only resentment. Sylar soured.

"You're lying," Mohinder said.

"I'm not _lying_, Mohinder." Sylar said. If he hadn't been watching the girl, she would have been an omelette on New York's tarmac within seconds.

As well as killing the girl, an accident would have cars backed up for blocks. It would have taken hours to get everything running smoothly again. He might not be an angel, but he was certainly close to one with the attention he paid Molly.

And all of it was for Mohinder.

He looked up to see Mohinder looking at him oddly, almost as if… as if he pitied him.

"What?" He asked in irritation.

Mohinder swallowed and looked down.

"What is it? Aren't you thankful I was _there _for her?" He nearly growled, unwilling to physically force Mohinder to speak.

"Sylar…" Mohinder said finally, "I don't doubt what you did for Molly. If you truly did, then… thank you. Really. But—"

Sylar didn't want to understand what Mohinder was saying, didn't want it to end. It couldn't end.

Mohinder looked into Sylar's eyes, and Sylar in turn thought about just how much he wanted to kiss and nuzzle and _fuck_ Mohinder into oblivion so he could forget about everything he was saying and everything that would happen if he said it.

"Sylar, we can't do this anymore." Mohinder said carefully.

"You don't mean that, Mohinder, not really." He looked at Mohinder, trying to gauge him, trying to _see _him, see past his words.

"I've done this too long, and I've told you in the past why we can't and now I just… I can't do it anymore." Mohinder was pleading, in a way, pleading for him to understand.

Their eyes locked, Mohinder's breathing steady.

"Do you ever want to see me again, Mohinder?" Sylar asked calmly, though his eyes were locked on Mohinder's lips.

"No. I don't." Mohinder stated, without a hint of inflection.

Sylar looked up, into a black-iron graveyard of a ceiling. Iron supports broke off and random pipes twitched out of the wall to twist back on themselves. He took a breath.

"Once more?" He asked, looking back to Mohinder, knowing in that instant what helplessness felt like.

Mohinder's eyebrows drew together and Sylar felt the urge. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Mohinder didn't move, his eyes deepened, the sorrow in them almost tangible.

He took Mohinder's neck, the warmth of his skin a pale reminder of nights past. He leant in, pressing a kiss to Mohinder's lips. It was rougher at the end than he had intended and he broke with a gasp. Mohinder's eyes were blown wide for a moment before he blinked and looked away. He set his jaw.

Sylar forced a smile.

"You were always stubborn, Mohinder." What was left of the smile dropped from Sylar's face. He swallowed. "I won't keep you here. You can go."

Mohinder didn't look up as he left.

And then Sylar was alone again, confused, angry, and, ultimately, tired.

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><p><strong>AN: **Comments are love~


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